Uncomfortably Green
by Notatracer
Summary: *Complete* Part 2. Follows 'Hell's Napkin'. Azrael tells Serendipity what he did at Point Pleasant. The grass is too green and the sun is too bright. Next: 'Leviticus Sandbox'
1. Bleecker Daydreams

(Story order: 1. Hell's Napkin 2. Uncomfortably Green 3. Leviticus Sandbox 4. Something Wrong 5. Black Eye Perplexity; also Azrael Drabbles: short stories from my universe)

Here he was. Azrael the bored. Azrael the lonely. Azrael the sexually frustrated. Azrael the suicidal demon. Boo fucking hoo. He was standing on Bleecker Street, feeling sorry for himself as he watched the people pass him by. They were completely oblivious to the fact that he wasn't one of them. He stood, wearing his oft-present white suit and hat, leaning against a brick building. He was drinking, and alternately spitting onto the ground, a papaya drink that he had bought a few miles back from a tiny take-out hotdog restaurant. He didn't care about neatness or politeness. Not like those fucking angels, always with their extra cups to spit into. Some say that cleanliness is next to Godliness, and he was about as far from Godliness as they come. About the only reason he didn't dress like a slob was that one couldn't really strike fear into the hearts of mortals if you looked like a mallrat who just rolled out of bed. Though, he had known a couple of angels who were terribly messy in their day. 

What was it about humans that he hated so much? Oh, many things. The smell was very high up on his list. Along with just about everything else about them. From their freewill to their lack of public restrooms. Not that his kind used the bathroom, but it didn't stop him from noticing how ridiculous it was that there were no public toilets in Manhattan. Come to think of it, they were scarce in central Jersey as well. Seemed like since it was something that the humans did often, there would be adequate facilities. Without having to make a mad dash through the Village all the way to the big Starbucks, only to find that you had to buy something _and_ stand in a long line in order to pee.

Some of those who aren't familiar with the ins and the outs of the celestial plane may wonder why so much of the spiritual goings on happens in this area of the world. It's actually quite a simple explanation. The only known rift in the space/time continuum exists up under a rather large house in New Brunswick, New Jersey. It's the house on Somerset that _used _to be purple. You can't actually see the hole, but if you happen to stumble into it you would apparently fall straight into Hell. Or, you would just disintegrate. Needless to say, any human who may have fallen in has yet to come back and tell what happened. The hole itself, as it were, acts as something of a beacon. Only the angels, demons, and others like them can even come close to understanding the drawing power of the hole. And, even they aren't exactly sure why they feel a need to visit the Garden State. It's just one of those things.

Azrael sucked up more of the papaya drink, then spat it out. He wasn't fond of the flavor, but it reminded him of the girl he'd met on the beach. _The Girl_, he emphasized in his mind. Not only was she the bearer of his first (and hopefully only) kiss by a human, but also she was presumably now pregnant with the son of Satan. He sighed at the thought and kicked a rock across the sidewalk. Not that he cared, but Armageddon was not something he was looking forward to. Another pointless power struggle. Only this time, he hoped that at least maybe he would finally be allowed to die. Of course, he'd been tossed out of Heaven last time for not fighting in _their_ war. He wondered what would happen this time. Certainly they didn't toss people out of the Pit. Did they? There wasn't any place else to go, but to nothingness. And, that's exactly where he wanted to be.

Wishing to die is a complicated thing for a demon. It's about a million times more complicated than if an angel wanted to die. All an angel has to do is cut his wings off to become mortal. Then, when he dies he either goes to Heaven or Hell just like any other human. Demons, on the other hand, can't become human. The curse of immortality is one of the biggest parts of their punishment for whatever it was that caused them to fall from heaven in the first place. The boredom alone would be enough to drive them crazy. But, that's just one of countless things that contribute to the rampant mental illness amongst demons. The only ones who seemed to stay sane were the ones who tortured the souls in Hell, and that wasn't exactly normal. 

To escape from the Pit, a demon has two choices; either figure out how to get back on God's good graces which is seemingly impossible or die. And, the only way for a demon to actually completely die is to no longer exist, which is a difficult business. If a demon just drops dead, he goes back to Hell. Well, a demon can't just drop dead, they have to be stabbed, impaled, or otherwise assaulted with something that has been blessed by someone holy. Then about a half-hour later they wake up in the Pit, and it's not pretty when they do. Especially if they have enemies in the afterlife.

Azrael had no shortage of enemies. He'd only died once, which that in itself wasn't the most comfortable thing he's ever experienced. But, it looked a lot worse than it actually felt. Demons have very little in the way of actual physical feelings. They have emotional feelings, mostly negative ones. But, the average person could probably hit them all day and it would barely faze them. Not that they would allow a person to hit them, but they'd barely feel it none the less. 

He continued to lean against the building, lost in his own thoughts. He had pretty much tuned out all of the people passing him by, going about on their pointless tasks in their meager existences. None of them seemed to notice him anyway. 

The last time he had died, that was most unpleasant. Not just the actual act of dying, but everything as a whole. It wasn't the how, so much as the who and maybe even the why. Those ridiculous excuses for prophets for one thing. He had never met the Apostle before that day, but any friend of his sister was definitely no friend of his. That annoying Christ Bitch. He doubted very much he would like her even if she weren't the one trying to ruin his plans. No wonder she was single. And, on top of being grating, she had the audacity to spit in his face. He made sure that few people heard that particular detail of the story, but it had happened. What's worse was that his own sister had laughed. Worse even was that his sister was the one who told that fat fuck how to kill him. Then, just when he thought things were as bad as they possibly could get, he didn't die. Not only did he not die; he ended up back in the one place he never wanted to be.


	2. Back In Hell

Darkness.

Azrael's mind slowly began to regain consciousness. It was as if there was a cloud inside his brain. It was unlike anything he had ever felt before. Not that he would have known, because at this particular moment he couldn't remember much of anything. Had he been asleep? No, he knew that wasn't right. Demons definitely did not sleep. But, then again, his ilk wasn't supposed to feel like he was feeling. So, he guessed, anything was possible. Well, almost anything.

A dull pain filled his head as he tried to sit up. A wave of nausea followed by dizziness hit him, both of which he never should have felt. You couldn't be nauseous if you didn't have a stomach. He tried to open his eyes, but found that simple task extremely difficult. Even without sight, he knew he was back in Hell. The smell and the distant screaming were unmistakable.

How he ended up back in the Pit was starting to slowly come to him. He was in that bar waiting for the end of all existence, and more importantly his existence, to finally happen. His sister, the Prophets, the Last Scion, the Apostle, the Triplets, and a dead barkeep were there too. He couldn't remember exactly how they had killed him, but obviously they had. No doubt they'd dispatched the Triplets as well. No matter. He didn't really care much for those Mighty Duck fucks anyway. They couldn't even kill a woman. His angel friends were probably dead also. Oh, well. Incompetent bastards. Thinking back, he should have just shot all the humans in the room. Then, went to the church himself and forced those two through the archway. Next time he'd be sure to do whatever it took to get it right. If there would be a next time, he added dismally. 

A faint whisper found him, dragging him back to the present. It was hard to hear, but it sounded like Delilah saying his name. With all his force, he opened his eyes only to find that he was alone. Silence was all that greeted him. Well, silence save for the wailing of the damned coming from another section of the Pit. But, in Hell, that was as close to silence as one got. 

He seemed to be unharmed no physical sign of whatever had happened to him. He reached up to find his small horns were still attached to his throbbing head. He wasn't sure if he should be relieved or angry that he was still a demon. He was; however, disappointed that he was still alive. Actually, extremely depressed was a more accurate description. He didn't have long to debate how terribly he felt before a familiar, albeit evil, laugh echoed through the room. He looked up to see Saminga appear. 

Saminga looked down at Azrael and laughed again. He wasted no time before he hauled back and hit Azrael as hard as he could across the face. Azrael fell back over onto the ground, feeling a pain so strong that he almost blacked out again. Normally being hit like that would have just stung a little bit, maybe knocking him over with the force of it. But, it wouldn't have felt anywhere like this. His eyes welled up with tears. That in itself alarmed him more than being hit. Demons didn't cry. They couldn't even if they wanted to, no tear ducts. Something was definitely wrong. 

Saminga smiled down at the teary eyed demon, "Pathetic."

Slowly, Azrael sat up, holding one hand to his nose in an attempt to stop the steady flow of black blood. He used his other hand to keep from falling back over again. He looked up at Saminga, wordlessly asking him what was happening.

"You died, fuckhead. Now you're in sort of a transition stage. You're still a demon, but you have all the feelings of a mortal in the suffering pit. This little novelty should wear off in, oh, about an hour or so. But, until then, I'm going to take full advantage of the situation."

With that, Saminga laughed and hit Azrael again.

Saminga. There was a demon Azrael wished he would never see again, though that was highly unlikely. Saminga was the top ass kiss in the Pit. He also seemed to direct all of his aggression in Azrael's general direction. They first met shortly after Azrael fell from Heaven. At the time, Azrael was still the gentle, kind, and soft-spoken soul who had never even dreamt of hurting his fellow angels. His 'artist not a fighter' mentality had made him an easy target in Hell. Even now, eons later, after dementia and an almost all consuming anger had long since replaced Azrael's gentle nature, Saminga still harbored this hatred for him. As if life in the Pit wasn't bad enough. 

Azrael took another drink of the papaya juice. 


	3. The Letter

Serendipity was another one he wasn't too fond of. She was a Muse, not exactly an angel but close enough. More specifically, she was his sister. His uncaring bitch of a sister. And, what was with the accent? She wasn't Mexican. She wasn't a Hindu either. She wasn't even a human. Well, she sort-of was human for a short time, but she had started talking with an accent almost from the beginning. Long before Spanish had even been invented. But then again, he wasn't from California either, so he couldn't argue accents much. They all picked what they liked. 

If he was being honest with himself, he knew that he did care about her. He cared about what she thought about him. He had wondered how she felt about him falling, and it had hurt when she said that it hadn't bothered her. He would deny his feelings up and down, but the look on his face spoke volumes. Though not technically brother and sister, she was about the closest to family that he had. Not that it seemed to matter to her. 

He cared so much that he had actually sent her a letter shortly after that little incident on the beach. Thinking back, he wished he hadn't so much as thought about writing it. 

__

I didn't want to do it. Honestly. Granted, you probably won't believe that I'm telling the truth. After all, I am a 'fucking demon'. I kill humans all the time without thinking twice. Hell, I almost killed us all. But, you've got to believe me. I never wanted this. They made me do it. They made me hold that little girl down while They impregnated her. When the end comes, remember that it's not my fault this time. I really don't know why I'm writing this letter. I'm sure I'll regret it. I know you don't love me. I doubt you ever did. Never once did you stand up for me when I fell. You said that it never bothered you. It didn't bother you that I was wrongly condemned to a life of misery. Maybe I could have handled it better had I known someone cared. But you didn't. You don't. You never will. No one does. In all those millions of years, you couldn't even find one minute to visit? Just to see how I was doing. Make sure I'm okay. If it had been reversed, I would have stuck up for you. It still hurts… maybe worst of all. You don't care in the least that your only brother wants to die. But, I can't. Such is my miserable existence. Fuck all of you for _doing this to me. You people are shit._

Love, Azrael 

"What does he mean by that? 'When the end comes'? Does he know something we don't?" asked Serendipity as her oldest friend Rufus read over the letter she had received. 

Rufus shrugged, "Where did you say you got this thing?"

"It arrived at the bar I used to work at. They still get mail for me. I was expecting the new Woodbridge Magiawala catalog, but instead I get a letter from that yellow shithead. What do you think it means?"

"It means…," Metatron said, as he appeared, "…somewhere out there is a poor girl carrying the Anti-Christ. That's what it means. Sweet Jesus, this isn't good. I need a drink."

"But, what are we supposed to do?"

"Well, Apostle, I'd suggest that somebody had bloody well better find this girl. Why is it that I always have to spell these things out? Serendipity, you go find out what that demon knows. He should be able to lead us to her. Rufus, you go 'round asking questions. Maybe someone's heard something."

"And you?"

"Don't worry about me. Just worry about finding out what's going on."


	4. Blood & Cheese

The concept of sanity was one that was foreign to Azrael. He hadn't been any resemblance of sane in millions of years. Sometimes he went up to the 'surface' and just killed the first person he saw. He almost never actually touched them; of course, he would just do something as simple as putting an idea in their head. That idea being one such as wondering what it would be like to step in front of a car. It was rare that he actually harmed them himself. Even that kid with the shirt in the dirt mall had a drink machine fall on him. The last thing the kid said was, "All right, Mountain Dew!" Then, 'bam'… and not a moment too soon. Well, technically the last thing he said was "Where's Joe?" but it came out more of a gargle rather than actual words. The barkeep he shot was the first person Azrael had murdered with his own two hands. Or, one hand with a gun, as the case was. It felt good though. When you have the inability to get laid, killing someone was the next best thing. 

The one person who gave him any sense of normality was Delilah, and even she drove him crazy in her own little way. But, her crazy was different than his usual crazy. When he was alone, not murdering some unsuspecting dumbass, he was usually lost in his own thoughts. Regrets, loneliness, confusion, misplaced anger, and more dark thoughts than even the most depressed human could come up with. That was one thing that got him, the depressed humans. Let them trade places with him for five minutes, then they'd be overjoyed at their petty problems. When he was with Delilah, all his darkness was nearly replaced with directed hostility and horniness. He couldn't and didn't want to love her, so instead he hated her. The last time he had seen her was in that field with the kitten.

Delilah was bending down only a few feet away, playing with an orange kitten. If she noticed Azrael's arrival, she made no indication of it. She had to have known he was there, she had called him, hadn't she? He didn't know why he always came at her whim, but here he was again. They were standing in a field full of almost unnaturally green grass. The only living creature around was the kitten. How it had gotten there, he could only assume that she had brought it from somewhere. The where and the how, he didn't care about in the least. He only cared about the why slightly more, but not by much. Not why she was playing with a cat, but why he was there. 

She was so much like a child to him. Not that she was retarded by any means, but she had an innocence about her like no other. Even more innocent than the human girl from the beach, despite Delilah being eons older than her. Something about Delilah was just, well, off putting. She had once been a child and had never completely lost that quality. He, on the other hand, had just been created one day. Created then casually tossed to the side. 

He pushed his hat a little farther down, trying to shade his eyes from the much too bright sunlight. Spending a few millennia in darkness made one sensitive to light. 

He stood quietly watching her. He knew the moment that he said something, she would say something in return. And, that was a thing he dreaded. He hated to hear her speak. He hated the way she looked at him. He hated the cute little nicknames she gave him. Basically, there were few things about her that he didn't absolutely abhor. He regarded her as something like a pet. His distraction. However, it occurred to him that it was always she who was calling out to him, telling him when and where to meet with her. Her tiny little voice in his mind, asking… no, demanding, that he go to her. Perhaps, he thought, he was her pet. He quickly shook that thought back out of his head. He preferred, instead, to just watch her.

A gentle wind ruffled through her wings, her hair, even her hoodie was slightly jostled. She looked up at Azrael and smiled. How he despised her smile. The sweet look she was giving him normally would have made him angry, but instead this time it roused another feeling. He knew without a doubt that if he were able to, he would very much enjoy raping that disgusting innocence from her. She would never smile at him again, he was sure of that. He almost smiled at the thought, but decided against it. She would have just thought he was smiling at her, and he definitely didn't want to give her that idea. 

She scooped up the orange kitten into her arms, holding it almost like a baby, and walked over to him. 

"Do you want to pet her?"

"No."

"I named her Cheese. Isn't she cute?"

"Not really."

The kitten looked at Azrael and began to growl. It's ears flattened and it hissed. He tilted his head so he could look the cat in the eyes. Cheese hissed again before leaping from Delilah's arms in a panicked run. It ran until it was out of sight. Azrael smiled.

When he turned his attention back to Delilah, he found her looking down at her arm. The kitten had scratched her during its escape. It was only a small scratch, but it was bleeding. He didn't know angels, or whatever exactly she was, could get cut; much less actually bleed. He hadn't been an angel in a long, long time. 

She looked up at him, pain in her eyes and a frown on her face. Her pain turned him on like nothing else. He cursed his lack of proper anatomy now more than ever. 


	5. A Dangerous Thing

Yuck. Azrael's papaya drink was getting warm.

Delilah reached up, aiming for Azrael's hat. He quickly swatted her hand away.

"It's too fucking bright out here."

An amused smile had returned to her face. Its purity would have made his stomach turn, but it still managed to disgust him just the same. He bent down a little bit, so he could smell her hair. Though he would never admit to doing so. It had a faint floral scent. He liked the smell, but only because it reminded him of Heaven. 

"You're thinking about doing… stuff. Aren't you?"

"Yes."

"Me too."

She had caught him off guard and kissed him before he had the chance to protest. He hated kissing. He hated many things; a good majority of them associated with her. Maybe it was good that they couldn't have sex, he would probably just hate that too. Or, at least, that's what he told himself so he wouldn't go completely mad with desire. He had tried to hump her once, but that accomplished little aside from looking ridiculous.

He pulled away from her almost as fast as she had slid her tongue into his mouth. She giggled as he snarled at her. He wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his jacket.

"Fucking Christ, Delilah!"

She pursed her lips at him.

"Awww… is my wittle wookie upset?"

"You're damn right I'm upset. And, I'm not your fucking wookie."

She laughed. He couldn't quite understand it, but she almost always seemed to get amused by his anger. Figures, he'd find the one creature that actually got off on his tirades. 

"It's not my fault we can't partake in the dirtiest of human businesses. I've seen your thoughts… I know what you want to do. I want to do it too."

She smiled again. He could only look at her. One minute she seemed so pure and the next she was teasing him with vain hopes of sexual conquest. For a moment he remembered why it was that he spent his time with her. Aside from the disparaging fact that she was one of very few souls who so much as gave him the time of day. Not that he ever actually asked for the time. When you're immortal, one minute is just as boring as the last. However, he was almost sure that if he ever needed to know what time it was, Delilah would gladly tell him. 

"Sit with me."

His response was simply another of his long suffering sighs. It wasn't the most positive of noises, but she apparently took it to mean 'okay'. She sat, legs crossed, on the grass that was much too green for Azrael's liking. The color of the grass made him uncomfortable. No, he didn't understand it either. It was just a feeling. She looked up at him and smiled at his scowl. 

"Now, now… just sit. Forget about being miserable for a minute or two. Please?"

She patted her lap and he reluctantly sat. Actually, he not only sat, but after a moment he laid back so that he could rest his head on her leg. He had to take his hat off, which was something that he was more reluctant to do than sit with her. He absolutely despised his horns. He didn't mind them so much when he was alone or with another resident of Hell. But, when he was with her… he wasn't sure what it was, but it almost felt like he was ashamed of them. She'd of course seen them hundreds of times, but it never made it easier. NOT that he cared what she thought about them or him. Insignificant annoying girl that she was. And, on top of that, the sun was still bright enough to hurt his eyes. All light hurt his eyes to some degree, but this excessive sunlight was absolutely brutal. He closed his lids tightly, but the brightness still stung. He would have put his hat over his face to make some shade, but she would have just taken it back off. So he decided to bear the discomfort instead of waste energy.

He could only see her in his imagination, but he could smell her. A Christian Dior rose is what she smelt like. He wasn't sure how he knew what a Christian Dior rose was, much less what one smelled like. Just somehow he knew. Maybe she knew and had shared that information with him. He didn't know nor cared. He breathed in her sweet smell. Hoping to take back enough of it with him to the Pit. A pleasant scent memory amongst the eons of filth that daily offended his nose. He could hear her wings flapping gently in the light breeze. Her fingers were playing idly in his hair. He could see all of this clear as day in his mind. Without realizing it, he had been smiling the entire time. Not the self-important smirk or the evil smile, or even the fake smile that he often forced at her. It was a real smile of contentment. It was quite possibly the only true smile that had crossed his face since before he fell from Heaven. Or perhaps even the first real smile ever. The moment he realized that he was smiling, he quickly dispatched it. 

She didn't seem to mind that he quit smiling. Her fingers moved from his hair to gently touch his horns. She had never touched them before. She had tried on occasion, but he always swatted her away. This time he didn't move. He simply lay there, his fingers interlocked, listening to her tiny noises. Breathing in her sweetness. 

His horns felt exactly how they looked, like exposed bone. Because essentially that's what they were. They were attachments of his skull. Little, barely curved horns that poked out of his forehead like some great beacon that said 'hey, look at me, I'm a fucking demon'. The other demons called them 'little girl horns'. Smug bastards with their big pointy horns. Azrael was content with his small horns; they were much easier to hide. Not that the other demons hid theirs. Oh, no, they were proud of theirs. Often challenging each other as to whose were bigger. 

In any case, Delilah always seemed to be fascinated by Azrael's horns. He wished he could see her expression now that he finally let her touch them. They had little feeling, but he could still feel the gentle pressure of her fingers. It didn't necessarily feel good, but it definitely didn't feel bad. Sort of itchy. He was smiling again. 

A shade fell over his face and it took a brief second for him to figure out that she was leaning over him. Not a moment later, her lips were on his. He wanted to protest, wanted to yell at her for kissing him. But, he didn't say a word. He had actually forgotten to be miserable. He wasn't quite sure if it was because he was enjoying her pleasant aroma or because the sun was unbearably blinding or because the creepy grass was just so damn comfortable. He forgot himself for the first time in his long and unhappy existence. 

Anytime she could distract him; she would manage to sneak a kiss in. The result was almost always the same. He never kissed her back, but instead pulled away immediately. Cursing, fuming, shoving her away, whatever he could do to try to give her the message that he thought she was disgusting. He figured it like this, if he could fuck her then he would kiss her… but they can't do one, so why bother with the other. The girl on the beach had got him with a similar tactic. She had distracted him, then kissed him before he knew what had happened. Demons are notorious for being easily distracted. Hence why during the days of genitalia, they made lousy lovers. Well, that and the fact that they _were_ demons after all. A horny demon's a dangerous thing. Not the most gentle or mentally stable of creatures. On the other hand, angels used to get laid all the time. 

Her kisses seemed tentative, like she was expecting a barrage of obscenities from him at any moment. Instead she was greeted by him kissing her in return. His hand wrapped in her hair, pushing her head to him more. His kisses weren't any resemblance of loving or passionate. They were almost desperate. He knew this. He didn't want to go back to the Pit, or feel miserable, or be Azrael the demon for one more minute. It was as if maybe by kissing Delilah, who seemed to him to be the exact opposite of everything he was, he would somehow be free. He knew that was a wishful thought he just wanted to fool himself for a brief time. For a moment, he thought he tasted papaya in her mouth, but the thought left as soon as it came. He hated her so much. 

He felt dizzy.


	6. Serendipity Yells

"For the love of God, Azrael."

That voice… that damnable accusing voice of his celestial other half. Serendipity was here. It was still too bright to open his eyes, but he could feel her presence. And, was almost certain that she had spoken to him. He didn't know where he was. The last thing he remembered was laying on that odd grass as Delilah touched his horns for the first time. After that, it went fuzzy. He seemed to recall Delilah kissing him, but then…

Delilah.

How he had not realized it sooner, he was unsure. But, he was lying on top of her, his hand around her neck. He opened his eyes as much as he could manage which was only enough to see barely anything more than her outline. She didn't seem to be harmed; though he couldn't really see her. She didn't seem upset either. But, again, he could only guess. He suddenly noticed that he still had his hand around her neck and quickly pulled it away. A quiet little noise escaped her. Was it a cough or a gasp or something else? Certainly it wasn't a death rattle. He knew deep down that it was impossible for him to have actually killed her, but that was the first thought he had. 

The next thing he felt was a sharp poke in his side with an excessive force so hard that it actually hurt. He recognized the feeling as Serendipity's high heel shoe kicking him off of Delilah. He landed on the grass with a 'thud'. He tried to remember something, anything about what had happened but he was coming up blank. 

Beside him, he could hear Serendipity helping Delilah to her feet. 

"Are you okay?"

Her reply was a whisper of "Yes, I'm fine."

It was quiet. The eye of the storm, he would later think back to that moment as. Serendipity grabbed him by the front of his jacket and jerked him to his feet. She started yelling at him. Partially in English, partially in Spanish, but mostly in a language he hadn't heard in nearly forever. What she said was so fast and angry that it for the most part ran together into nonsense. He scarcely understood half of it. But, the tone of her voice was unmistakable. 

Amidst her yelling, he clearly heard her say, "…attack a defenseless human…" She also went on to call him psychotic, which he couldn't honestly deny. However, what got his attention was that she had referred to Delilah as human. But, she wasn't a human. He wasn't completely sure what category she exactly fell under, but human was definitely not it. She was millions of years old. He had seen her born with his own two, currently stinging eyes. She was almost as far from human as he or his sister. The fact that Serendipity didn't recognize her was a great relief. Confusing, but a relief none the less. 

The yelling stopped. 

"Are you even listening to me?!"

He hadn't been listening and he saw no point in trying to pretend that he had been.

"Look at her. Look what you did, you… you sick fuck."

He couldn't see anything more than he could before. Delilah was standing a few feet behind Serendipity, but as to how she looked he couldn't be sure. It must have been something unpleasant. Somewhere in the back of his mind, the one shred of decency that he still had screamed at him to say something apologetic. 'Ask her if she's okay', it demanded. He didn't. 'Tell her you're sorry'. He ignored that annoying little voice as he had time and time again. He grabbed Serendipity's fists and forcefully removed them from his jacket. 

"Do you actually want something, Muse? Or did you just stop-in to judge me like I'm some sort of fucking maniac?"

"You _are_ a maniac, Azrael. You would have killed that girl had I not happened in at the right time."

He let out a noise of disbelief.

"You think this is funny?"

He sighed, "No."

No point, he reasoned. Just find out what she wants and get her out of here as quickly as possible. 

"I was sent down to find out about the girl in your letter. The one you claimed that They impregnated. Who is she?"

He shrugged at her, "I don't know." which was the truth.

She grabbed him by the hair and pulled him down to her.

"Cut the crap, Azrael! Now, tell me where to find her."

He shoved her away from him.

"I told you… I don't know. She was just some girl on a beach in Jersey. She found me. I have no idea who she is."

She snorted, still not entirely believing his story.

"Do you know anything about her?!"

He thought for a moment. 

"She's young, I think. Dark hair. Tastes like cotton candy and papaya juice."

"What?!"

He shrugged, "Nothing. Oh, I think she might be related to one of the prophets. The quiet one. That's all I know."

She gave him a suspicious look. He couldn't see the look, but he knew it was there. It had to be there.

Without another word, she walked over to Delilah and put her arm around her. Azrael squinted in their direction, only making out a gray blob where the two stood. 

Serendipity quietly said, "Let's get you home."

He couldn't hear Delilah's response, but was quite curious about it. She had no Earthly home. He wondered what lie she would come up with, and wondered even more if his sister would believe her.

Before they disappeared, he heard Delilah's tiny voice in his mind. She sounded almost amused at the whole situation. 

"It's just a black eye. It'll disappear any minute. Don't worry, poodle."


	7. Poodle

Poodle?! God, how she annoyed him every chance she got. He wondered if she did it on purpose. He also wondered where she had pretended to live at after they left. And, why had Serendipity not recognized her? He shrugged to himself. He really didn't care. Didn't even care about what had happened during the time he couldn't remember. It wasn't like he had any feelings aside from hate for her. And, besides, it wasn't like he could really do her harm. The more he thought about that day; he came to one resounding conclusion. He was going to have to look into investing in a pair of sunglasses. 

People continued to stroll on by… sweaty, smelly, nasty creatures. These smelled like bologna and artificial scents. They smelled worse in the Pit, but not by much. Just take the sweaty lunch meat, combine it with bodily excrement of all types, and throw in some coppery blood for good measure and you'd almost come close to a smell so strong that even if he never sets foot in Hell again, Azrael will always smell it. It was one that got lodged in the nose. One so strong, it had a flavor. 

If he had to smell a human, he preferred the dead ones on Earth. Oh, sure they stank something fierce at first. But, before long they had a musty smell, almost like that of a damp cellar. Then, nothing at all. 

Nothing was always Azrael's favorite of anything. Favorite smell, favorite taste, favorite plane of existence… nothingness was bliss. 

He sucked up the last of his papaya drink with a loud squeak of the straw. Then, spit it. He didn't spit it down beside him like he'd been doing, but this time he spit it across the sidewalk during a moment of low pedestrian traffic. He toyed with the idea of spitting it on one of the sheep-eyed passersby, but he didn't feel like having someone yell at him or any of the other possible consequences from the action. The paper cup found itself a new home on the windowsill of the record shop whose wall he'd been leaning against. 

He looked down at his watchless arm, only just now realizing how long he'd been standing there. Hours. No wonder the papaya drink had gotten warm. And, not just a little bit warm. But, it had that been sitting in the hot sun for hours kinda warm. He lowered his hat a little further down, remembering the sunlight beating down on him. He'd been leaning against this building almost all day. 

This was nearly as bad as the time he'd spent the entire night sitting on that odd pipe like thing that sits just to the left of CBGB. Just watching the people gather in a large crowd to see a band they'd probably never heard of. And, watching the bouncer telling the people without tickets that they couldn't hang out front. Not Azrael, though. The bouncer gave him a look, but said absolutely nothing. Aside from the big burly bully of a bouncer, not a single person so much as looked at Azrael. He sat there watching them, sometimes seeing a choice person's deep dark secrets. He did this type of thing often. Picking a place to be alone and for the most part getting lost in his own thoughts. He used to do that in the Pit, before the humans invaded. 

The girl from the beach floated back into his brain. Did his sister have any luck in finding her? This he actually almost cared about… almost. Just because he hoped that the war would be stopped before it started. 

He always thought that if he were human, he would probably be afflicted by nervous nausea. He got so nervous and worked up about everything that he was thankful he didn't have a stomach. It wasn't like he didn't have cause to be nervous; to him everything seemed to end badly. 

Just as he was about to launch into a new pity party, a guy on a bicycle whizzed past him, breaking his train of thought. With a sideways glance, the front wheel of the bike skidded to a stop. The guy flew off, hitting the ground at an unnatural angle. The snap that accompanied the impact was a sound that Azrael's ears had long since become accustomed to. He smiled as he left the side of the building to continue his walk through the City. It might not be such a bad day after all.


End file.
